Lord of Shadows The Dark Artifices 2

The head of the Institute looked nearly as ancient as the building. Her name was Evelyn Highsmith. Kit got the sense that the Highsmiths were a big deal in Shadowhunter society, though not as big a deal as the Herondales. Evelyn was a tall, imperious, white-haired woman in her eighties who wore long 1940s-style dresses, carried a silver-headed walking stick, and sometimes talked to people who weren’t there.

Only one other person seemed to live in the Institute: Evelyn’s maid, Bridget, who was just as ancient as her mistress. She had bright dyed-red hair and a thousand fine wrinkles. She was always popping up in unexpected places, which was inconvenient for Kit, who was once again on the lookout for anything he might steal. It wasn’t a quest that was going well—most of what appeared valuable was furniture, and he couldn’t imagine how he was supposed to creep away from the Institute carrying a sideboard. The weapons were carefully locked away, he didn’t know how to sell candlesticks on the street, and though there were valuable first editions of books in the enormous library, most of them had been scribbled in by some idiot named Will H.

The dining room door opened and Diana came in. She was favoring one arm: Kit had found out that some Shadowhunter injuries, especially those that involved demon poison or ichor, healed slowly despite runes.

Livvy perked up at the sight of her tutor. The family had gathered for dinner, which was served at a long table in a massive Victorian dining room. Angels had once been painted on the ceiling, but they had long ago been nearly completely covered by dust and the stains of old burns. “Did you hear anything from Alec and Magnus?”

Diana shook her head, taking the seat opposite Livvy. Livvy wore a blue dress that looked like it had been stolen from the set of a BBC period piece. Though they’d fled the L.A. Institute with none of their belongings, it turned out there were years’ worth of clothes stored in London, though none of them looked as if they’d been purchased after 1940. Evelyn, Kit, and the Blackthorn family sat around the table in an odd assortment of clothes: Ty and Kit in trousers and long-sleeved shirts, Tavvy in a striped cotton shirt and shorts, and Drusilla in a black velvet gown that had delighted her with its Gothic appeal. Diana had rejected all the garments and simply hand washed her own jeans and shirt.

“What about the Clave?” said Ty. “Have you talked to the Clave?”

“Are they ever useful?” Kit muttered under his breath. He didn’t think anyone had heard him, but someone must have, because Evelyn burst out laughing. “Oh, Jessamine,” she said to no one. “Come now, that isn’t in good taste at all.”

The Blackthorns all raised their eyebrows at each other. No one commented, though, because Bridget had appeared from the kitchen, carrying steaming plates of meat and vegetables, both of which had been boiled to the point of tastelessness.

“I just don’t see why we can’t go home,” Dru said glumly. “If the Centurions defeated all the sea demons, like they said . . .”

“It doesn’t meant Malcolm won’t come back,” said Diana. “And it’s Blackthorn blood he wants. You’re staying within these walls, and that’s final.”

Kit had passed out during the horrible thing they called a Portal journey—the terrible whirl through absolutely icy nothingness—so he’d missed the scene that must have occurred when they’d appeared in the London Institute—minus Arthur—and Diana had explained they were there to stay.

Diana had contacted the Clave to tell them about Malcolm’s threats—but Zara had been there first. Apparently she’d assured the Council that the Centurions had it all under control, that they were more than a match for Malcolm and his army, and the Clave had been only too happy to take her word for it.

And as if Zara’s assurance had in fact effected a miracle, Malcolm didn’t turn up again, and no demons visited the Western Seaboard. Two days had passed, and there had been no news of disaster.

“I hate Zara and Manuel being in the Institute without us there to watch them,” said Livvy, throwing her fork down. “The longer they’re there, the better claim they have for the Cohort taking it over.”

“Ridiculous,” said Evelyn. “Arthur runs the Institute. Don’t be paranoid, girl.” She pronounced it gel.

Livvy flinched. Though everyone, even Dru and Tavvy, had finally been brought up to speed on the situation—including Arthur’s illness and the facts about where Julian and the others really were—it had been decided it was better for Evelyn not to know. She wasn’t an ally; there was no reason she’d side with them, though she seemed patently uninterested in Council politics. In fact, most of the time she didn’t seem to be listening to them at all.

“According to Zara, Arthur’s been locked in his office with the door shut since we left,” said Diana.

“I would be too, if I had to put up with Zara,” said Dru.